


By a Slip of a Hand

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arwen is not going to be there for long, Basically Love Letters, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epistolary, Fluff, For the better part of it, Happy Ending, I shouldn't tag shit after drinking wine, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Letters, Longing, M/M, Post-War of the Ring, References to Depression, Sea-longing, Someone help those idiots OMG, There is ONE phrase of description, Where is Legolas when you need him?, a touch of angst, just one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-08-13 21:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: The king and his steward miss each other horribly, so they take to writing letters.I have no excuse for this fic. None.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One day I just dcided to write something letter-based. If they sound like puppies drowning in love for each other, please forgive me. I needed fluff, and fluff I produced. 
> 
> MermaidSheenaz kept an eye on me during this writing (hah), so the lettering (heeeh) should be fine. If something's off, it's entirely my fault, seeing as my post (*snorts*) here is _a writer_. 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! 
> 
> P.S. The fic is finished and will be posted daily (unless uruk-hai hack off my internet cables, then I'll find a way to post it on the next possible moment).

_ 28th day of Ivanneth _

_ Dear Prince of Ithilien:  _

_ Has it been two months since you have departed for Emyn Arnen?  _ _ The calendar says so, even if this old fool cannot believe the passage of time. _ _ I certainly hope that everything is going smoothly in your Ithilien home! I have heard about Legolas and his merry band of Elves restoring the forest with, reportedly, supernatural speed - I pray that he and his company are not making your head hurt with all their singing! I have seen such an undertaking once, in a very remote part of Imladris, and even then, constant songs carried by winds were enough to wreck my nerves. I do hope you will not need to move out for the duration of the restorations.  _

_ If the forests of Ithilien provide you with no relief, however, I must say that Minas Tirith probably could. The court meetings are even more boring now when my trusted Steward has been gone. Just yesterday I had to listen to a lengthy quarrel between two fishermen who could not understand the meaning of work - they were far too focused on one of the tailor’s daughters. They wanted to impress her with their bountiful catch, but only succeeded in making themselves as wet as their nets had been when they had fallen into the river in the midst of their fighting. I do not think that the girl would have been bought with fish, anyway - she had a soul of a warrior. I do think a new shield or a comely set of chainmail would be a better way to win her heart. I could not help but wonder… What would impress you, my dear Prince? A boat full of fresh fish or a new armor? Or maybe an old tome brought from some remote realm and containing bits of ancient knowledge? Aye, I think that would be the best gift for you!  _

_ I am loathe to admit, though, that this one occurence of courtly misbehavior - for they started to quarrel loudly when they were already in the citadel - has been one of the most exciting happenings in the last month or so. The life here flows deceptively slowly, stretching between meetings like a well-traveled road between distant cities, only to quicken up when good things come a-knocking. And those have been rarer and rarer, unfortunately.  _

_ In the past months I could at least find some beauty in the gardens, as I am sure you remember. How many evenings did we spend there, walking among flowers and tall grass I had forbidden to cut to make it look wilder? The flowers and merrily growing grass are all wilting now, getting ready for the coming of autumn, and soon, there will be no greenery around. The cherished wilderness will perish and Gondor will truly be the Land of Rock, waiting for the snows to come from the high mountains and cover the ground with their white blanket. Even inside the citadel, life has gone dull and gray…  _

_ The Queen has been battling a strange disease. She would not tell me of the whole extent of it, but I can see her eyes growing dimmer and her skin turning paler with every passing day. At first I was the only one to notice, but now I do believe that the handmaids must see it clearly, too. Arwen will wave her hand and dismiss any concerns we may have, then go to finish whatever she started to do, but I can see that it is worrying her, too. Something is wrong with my Queen and I do not know what. It is terribly frustrating, my friend!  _

_ I will not burden you with such gloomy thoughts anymore, though. The candle that is providing me with its meager light is almost finished, and so I should finish this letter. It is starting to rain outside, and I believe this weather will hold for some time. I hope there will be no trouble with flooding in Ithilien! Which reminds me - maybe we should visit Emyn Arnen? What say you, Faramir?  _

_ Yours faithfully, _ _   
_ _ King Elessar Telcontar _


	2. Chapter 2

_ 4th day of Narbeleth _

_ Dear and Revered King Elessar Telcontar: _

_ I was incredibly happy to receive your letter! I hasten to assure you that I am indeed doing well and that Legolas and his men are not as tiring as they would seem to be. The singing is present, just like you said, but it is quiet enough to be completely ignored, if one sets his mind on it.  _

_ I have no doubt that the court is making you bored out of your mind, my King. I do hope, however, that those troublesome meetings will continue to provide you with some excitement - lethargy is, after all, a sure path to madness.  _

_ The life here in Emyn Arnen is far from lazy. Yet, I can assure you that, should you decide to visit, both you and the Queen would find an opportunity for relaxation. My house is freshly finished and, while its form is not as splendorous as interiors of Minas Tirith, it is very cosy and can provide respite as surely to a commoner as it would to a king!  _ _ Come, my lord, with my blessing and well-wishes! _ _ And please, do extend the invitation to the Queen. I was very distraught upon learning about the unnamed disease you have mentioned in your letter! It sounds both strange and dangerous, though I sincerely hope that she will be fine again before this letter arrives at your doorstep!  _

_ You have described the autumn already falling upon Minas Tirith, as I believe it is doing all over Gondor. Fortunately, the trees in Ithilien are still green, although their leaves are flecked with browns and yellows here and there. If you decide to come soon, you may yet witness it. The sight is truly beautiful, and I cannot wait for all of them to don their autumnal coats and to cover the ground at their feet with seas of gold. I only wish that winter will not be too harsh, for many animals are still looking for shelter among the plains destroyed during the war and their future would be uncertain.  _

_ Ah, but winter is still far away! Let us not dwell on that! Please, consider my invitation to Emyn Arnen!  _

_ Yours faithfully, _

_ Faramir, Prince of Ithilien _

_ P.S. I have given it a thought… I think, if I were to be courted, the candidates would be unsuccessful. You alone seem to possess the secret knowledge of the path to my heart - an ancient tome would indeed be a very handsome gift, and I would welcome it gladly! Though, it is neither here nor there, seeing as I am not a girl waiting for a knight!  _


	3. Chapter 3

_ 24th day of Narbeleth _

_ My Dear Prince: _

_ It has barely gone one bell since my arrival at Minas Tirith and I already long to go back to Emyn Arnen!  _ _ What sort of spell have you placed upon me, my dear Prince? What witchcraft it is that pulls me out of my own bed and tells me to write you a letter?  _

_ The White City is turning cold, and I recall - with an undignifying amount of yearning - your armchair covered with furs and the fire cracking merrily in the main chamber of your house. What a wonderful week it was, my friend! I shall remember all our talks during those lengthy strolls in the depths of your forests -  _ _ for they are yours, don’t you ever doubt that.  _ _ Legolas may be nursing them back to health, but I could see and feel that the Ithilien spirits have found their master already! ‘Tis a strange thing, is it not? The ghosts of Minas Tirith are rarely as friendly towards their king as those in Emyn Arnen are… Sometimes I wonder whether I will see something out of the corner of my eye when I blow out the candles in the evening. It may sound preposterous to you - and by the Valar, it is! - to be wary of the unseen, but I have to admit that sometimes nameless fears do not let me sleep.  _

_ I only hope they are not the cause of Arwen’s indisposition. You see, Faramir, I cannot fight an invisible enemy. An Orc can be killed, a disease I can cure, but to battle ghosts? Aye, that would be impossible. And yet, I cannot banish these thoughts from my mind… Arwen is even worse now, than when I was leaving for Emyn Arnen. She should have come with me, I know it would have done her good… But I couldn’t force her, as I have told you. And now, when I have arrived, instead of being drawn into her arms and kissed warmly, I have only received a small, tired smile and a minute wave of her elegant hand. Something is seriously wrong with my Queen, and yet she will not speak to me about it. It is truly maddening, my friend! Ah, I see now that I should have pressed her to join me, I should have insisted that she tasted the renewing air of Ithilien. I only hope that the next time I am visiting, she will agree on going there with me. She is sleeping peacefully now, though, so I will not bring up the issue just yet. She has fallen asleep reading one of her Elvish novels, something about old heroes and young love.  _

_ It is a book not unlike the one I brought you, at least in appearance, though I have to say my gift caused you more laughter than her stories ever bestowed upon her. I will never forget the incredulous expression on your face when I presented you with that leather-bound compendium.  _ _ I know you said that you would have a tome of ancient knowledge, as I am well aware that “Plants and Trees of Lothlórien” is neither old nor rare, but it was the closest I could get to the requirements at such short notice. _ _ I believe that you will have it read before our next meeting. Please, do not overthink the wine that got spilled on the corner of it - the book is Elvish, and such is the paper it is made of. It will not stain, I assure you. I shall know I… Dare I say it? Ah! I guess you should know this about me, my dear Prince - I am a thief! I have stolen this book from Arwen’s grandfather! I was but a young lad then, and Celeborn caught me red-handed. He made me read it all as a punishment, too. Twice! I do hope you will have more fun with it than I had. Or more fun than the next few weeks at Minas Tirith are cooking up to be, at any rate.  _

_ Upon arrival, I had not yet stepped over the threshold of the citadel, when Velen approached me, carrying a stack of letters in one hand and a few rolled-up parchments in the other. I believe the boredom is going to be my end soon… Maybe I should get myself a dog?  _

_ Ai! ‘Tis late, I should go to sleep. Do not mind my moods - you have brought me great pleasure providing me with a week away from the weight of the whole realm, and I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart!  _

_ Yours truly,  _ _   
_ _ Elessar Telcontar _


	4. Chapter 4

_ 18th day of Hithui _

_ Dear King Elessar:  _

_ I could not help but giggle like a young maid upon receiving your letter. _ _ I have always known you as impatient, but perhaps this longing of yours has something bigger and deeper to it than just the prospect of being bored in the court? _ _ I assure you, I have placed no spell upon your being, although I cannot vouch for the rest of Emyn Arnen - or indeed, the Ithilien itself! This lands have long been considered somewhat magical, as I’m certain you know. Maybe the witchcraft you speak of is merely a few friendly spirits missing you right after you have departed?  _

_ It pains me to hear about the Queen’s condition. It sounds very serious when you describe it like this. I have every confidence that you will be able to help her, though! Maybe ‘tis nothing but the oncoming winter lowering her spirits and glooming her disposition? I certainly hope so! What concerns me more, however, is your position in all of this. Gondor needs two people ruling it, if only for one of them to keep the other sane. I cannot help but worry about you, my friend, my King! What will happen if… _

_ Ai! Do not listen! The cold must be getting to me. It has started raining right after you rode out and the rain is falling still. I do not think Ithilien will be flooded, but it is displeasingly wet right now and, if I did not have to, I would not be stepping out of the warmth of my house at all. As it is, someone has to tend to the new saplings, and the Elves are far too busy to pay them any attention. Legolas visited me just an hour ago to report about a fallen bridge they’ve encountered. They will try to build it back up with the support of new branches of willows. Such an Elvish way of building - I cannot wait to see what comes out of it! I have seen such constructions only in books, and in the tome you have given me, it is said that mallorn trees are far better for this purpose. It is such a shame that they wouldn’t grow in our soil! I would love to see them one day… Have you ever gazed upon a tall mallorn, my king? Is its beauty as splendid as they describe it in the books? Of course, there is no tree more magnificent than the White Tree of Gondor, but I think a gold mallorn would fill even Minas Tirith with its magical glow.  _

_ Speaking of which, a dog? My friend, I certainly hope that you are joking! It is one thing to feed them scraps every now and then, and another matter entirely to have one running around the citadel and jumping the emissaries! Imagine how would it look like to receive lords from Harad, finally coming over to settle a peace deal, dressed in their best robes infused with gold and jewels, with their polished armor and expensive silk, just to be dirtied by a muddy mongrel that wanted to play fetch… Oh, the scandal!  _ _ If you want, I am sure there are some dog houses that need help, you can surely donate some money to them. And a royal patronage over one or two of them should warm people’s hearts to the prospect of getting their dogs from there…  _ _ but to house one in the citadel? That has not yet happened in the last twenty generations of Gondor’s rulers! Besides, what would the Queen say to that?  _

_ Ah! I should finish up now, the evening is getting darker, and there are still matters that require my attention. Lady Éowyn will be coming here for a friendly visit next week, so I have much to prepare for. I do hope the incoming winter will be light and won’t weigh upon you too much, my friend!  _

  
_ Yours truly, _ _   
_ _ Faramir _


	5. Chapter 5

_ 10th day of Girithron _

_ Dear Faramir: _

_ Your letter arrived late due to Anduin raising her troubled waters over the banks.  _ _ I was worried about Ithilien getting flooded, when it seems that it is my own land I should be concerned about!  _ _ I do hope that your precious forest is faring better than the Pelennor Fields right now, for they have turned muddy and unfriendly.  _

_ You have said that Lady Éowyn was visiting you - I believe I know the reason for her coming! Does it have to do with the rumors circulating the citadel in the early days after the war? Are you courting her, my friend? Shall I prepare a comely chainmail as a wedding gift, or should it be a barrel of Linhir fish? I have been told they are the best in the whole of Belfalas… I jest, Faramir, I hope you will forgive me for that little humorous jab. Maybe it is the dismal state of my own affairs that pushes me to react with badly placed satire at such merry news? I know not, the past few weeks have drained me on every possible level, especially when it comes to my wife.  _

_ Arwen has finally talked to me about what has befallen her, and out of every disease it could be, the one that has chosen her is the only one I cannot cure, for even the hardest will - and the most cunning of spells - could not stop an Elf’s heart from longing. Ai, Faramir! The answer to my worries was so easy I feel ashamed not to have seen it before now, and I find myself even more depressed when I realize that there is nothing I can do! The Sea is calling to my Queen, its song a terrible lure that drains her tender heart until there will be nothing left to it and she will fade away.  _ _ I did not heed Lord Elrond’s warnings and I have ploughed on, the blundering idiot that I am. I should have seen it coming, _ _ I shouldn’t have let her remain here! I must write to her father, I know he dwells in Imladris still and that he will stay until the last trails of magic have vanished from the Middle Earth. Maybe he will be of help? Oh, but until the answer arrives, I shall be alone with my thoughts.  _

_ They have been burdening me so that over the past weeks I have taken up an unhealthy habit. I have to admit, it is a bit risky, and you certainly would not approve, but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve started donning my old ranger garb again and taken to sneaking out of the citadel.  _ _ Beregond has yet to catch me doing it, so I am not overly worried. _ _ I know you are frowning right now, reading about it, my dear friend. Do not fret! I am careful and I always have my trusted Andúril with me. I never go out for the whole night, either, just for a couple of hours. I find a tavern amongst the ones we have frequented back when Minas Tirith was still undergoing reconstruction, I sit myself in a corner and observe the people milling about. It gives my troubled thoughts some long-desired peace and, combined with some sweet ale, enables me to sleep soundly at night. _ _ Maybe it is the ease of life without all the royal problems weighing one’s thoughts, maybe it is my own memories of the time spent with you, but I do not think that this new habit will be easily broken. _ _ Especially that, a few nights ago, I have made a friend.  _

_ His eyes are big and gray, he is always happy to see me and spend some time with me. Even his hair has something I like to it - reddish in the low candlelight of the tavern, glinting with gold when sunlight reaches it. He is not very fond of ale, but he likes to steal meat from my plate. He has followed me to the very door of the citadel last evening, and had it not been for the Royal Guard standing on their post, he might have come in. Maybe he’ll try tomorrow? I cannot wait to meet up with him again, if I am to be completely honest with you.  _ _ He does not have one name, as I have heard different people call him Rust, Flame, or Biter. Especially the last one does not seem to fit him, since he has never bitten me… _ _ I think I may bring him home one day, his excitement and his tail swishing happily would be a nice change for the citadel! I would stick with Flame, though, I do not think Rust would fit a royal dog, do you?  _

_ Ah, ‘tis late, the candles are burning out and the night is upon me. I shall finish ‘ere I fall asleep with my nose in the ink. I hope the courtship of the White Lady of Rohan is going well!  _

  
_ Yours, _ _   
_ _ Aragorn _


	6. Chapter 6

_ 22nd day of Girithron _

_ Dear Aragorn: _

_ Let me start this letter with an explanation that  _ _ my courtship of the White Lady is not going well. In fact, it’s riding - riding back to Edoras, that is, for that is what Éowyn is currently doing, if she has not arrived there already. _ _ We have spent a few days filled with friendship and in good company, but it has never been my intention to marry her, with the help of fish or otherwise. As to the rumors - I cannot help them any more than you can help the inflow of emissaries from the most remote parts of Gondor. People always do what they want and talk about what they want… I didn’t spare them my time back then, and I do not intend to do it now. Let them talk, my friend!  _

_ You say that the Queen is feeling the calling of the Sea… I have heard of Elves dying of longing and grief, but I would never have suspected they could be affected by the call of the Ancient Ones themselves! What a gloomy fate hangs upon her now! And an even gloomier fate for you, my king! I do pray that Lord Elrond will find a way to bring his daughter back to the light, for I fear for your wellbeing as well! I know you, my friend, I know just how affected you would be had something taken the Queen away from you… You cannot be left alone in the citadel, it is such a cold place when it is not filled with laughter and warmed by friendship and love… I do wish there was something I could do to help. Please, if there is, do not hesitate to say it! Be it looking for a solution in the great tomes in the library, or simply helping you dodge the council members.  _ _ I will do anything you need, you have but to name it, my king! _ _ Maybe I should come and visit?  _ _ That way you would not be having any inappropriate ideas about taking a dog into the citadel…  _

_ Ah! Your description of him has left me with an unidentified warmth, though I could not for the life of me explain why it was so. Maybe it was the way you talked about him, maybe it is the fact that you seem to have found a true friend. My previous statement still stands - I do not think it wise to have a dog running through the corridors of the citadel. But, and I have to underline it twice, I am sure it would not hurt to give him some extra food. Especially seeing as the winter is already coming.  _

_ Is it snowing in Minas Tirith also, my king? The white powder is falling slowly here, covering the last of the golden leaves right outside my window, and I cannot tear my gaze away from the view. The sun is setting, and the colors are a curious clash of yellows, browns and brilliant, silvery white.  _ _ Like this, the snow looks almost like the precious mithril you so dislike when it’s sitting upon your head. _ _ I so wish you could see it yourself! So peaceful, so beautiful! Makes one appreciate life in all its forms! I do hope, though, that the snow will not be too thick. Legolas reported to me the other day that he will have to wander out into a more remote part of the forest and make sure the streams do not freeze over. I do not know how he is going to do that. Oh, he has explained it to me, I just wasn’t listening! He looked so ridiculously regal in his winter outfit, all fine furs and cream leather embroidered with silver thread… I almost didn’t recognize him upon his arrival, so used to his green clothes I was!  _

_ I do hope the tailors have outfitted you properly for the winter, too, my king!  _ _ I would hate to see you getting cold when the drafty citadel fills with freezing air…  _

_ Yours,  _

_ Faramir _

  
_ P.S. I attach a gift and I hope it arrives undamaged into your hands. It is a cloak made of the finest wool Elven hands could gather, lined with a pelt of a silver wolf I have hunted myself. The irritating creature would not cease to steal our sheep and so something had to be done about it.  _ _ Please, accept it and let it warm you during long council meetings.  _


	7. Chapter 7

_ 21st day of Narwain _

_ Dear Faramir:  _

_ I thank you for your generous gift! It certainly is a handsome cloak and  _ _ it warms my heart as much as it warms my shoulders during long days of work. _ _ Arwen says it suits me - she has murmured something about the grayness of it matching my eyes, but her words were quiet and got lost in the howling wind. The snow has fallen here also, making the White City even whiter, and now, I cannot help but miss the green grass and the warmth of Anor crawling lazily over the sky.  _

_ There are so many poor people still, Faramir! It has been two and a half years since the war, and not even half of our people have an appropriate shelter for the coming months! Their houses are barely standing together, the windows so drafty they hardly make any difference with their existence. I think you will probably approve of my change of habit - every day now, instead of going to the taverns, I am busy visiting people and trying to aid them in whatever way I can. _ _ I believe Imrahil is going to turn completely gray by the time this winter ends, for I have been spending way too much money from the royal vaults to help the poor. I just cannot help it, my friend! _ _ Those people have lost so much, and they have been working so hard in the past months, and yet, when the cold struck, they have been left shivering in the wind and begging for attention. I could not deny them anything! Even Arwen has been graciously giving away her winter clothes. She has decided that two coats and three tick dresses were enough, and so, she has been keeping an eye on the needful and aiding them whenever she could. It has brought back some life into her eyes, but it did not stop the inevitable, unfortunately.  _

_ I have spoken with Lord Elrond. My Queen is to sail to the Undying Lands as soon as it becomes possible. I do think it will happen when spring makes itself known, and I can only hope that she will be strong enough to endure till then. Ai, Faramir, what wouldn’t I give to have her happy and healthy and alive! If it means that I have to let her go, then so be it. I have made my peace with it, I only wish it wouldn’t come at such a high price. Which makes me think about you and lady Éowyn - how come you are not courting her? Is she already promised to another? I certainly hope it is not weighing upon your heart too much, Faramir.  _ _ You are a noble man with too many sought out characteristics to describe them in this here letter. _ _ If she could not see it, then I have to admit, I worry for her eyesight and her taste! Do not think too much upon it, though.  _ _ I am sure you’ll find someone who will appreciate you and hold you in the highest regard you deserve. _ _ I hope you will not share my fate, falling in love with people I cannot have for one reason or another… The longing is unbearable sometimes. _

_ I am lonely, my friend. I feel lonely even now and I fear that this dreadful state will only worsen once Arwen has sailed away… Look at me, a king in his castle, surrounded by dignitaries and lords from all fiefdoms of the biggest realm in the Middle Earth, unable to feel pleased in their company. Oh, to be in Ithilien once more, to breathe the fresh, summery air and drink wine with you! I so long for your company, but I would not have you coming here… Believe me, my friend, when I say that you are sorely missed, but I would never forgive myself if I insisted on dragging you here in this weather.  _

_ Ai, Faramir, the roads are covered with so much snow, even Brego shies away from braving it. There are wargs prowling the grounds right outside the Pelennor Fields, hungry because of the lack of game, waiting for something fresh to bite into. I would never have you endangering yourself so just to come here and hold the hand of your inept king. Please, stay warm and be content that I do not indulge in any stupid ideas that might have plagued my mind earlier. Even the dog matter has been put to rest - I have not seen Flame since the snow has started falling with abandon. I hope he has found a new home somewhere in the city and is happily swishing his tail at his new owner.  _

_ Devotedly, _ _   
_ _ Your Aragorn _


	8. Chapter 8

_ 9th day of Nínui _

_ Dear Aragorn:  _

_ I hope you know that I would do anything Gondor or her King required of me, even if it was to dig a tunnel in the snow just to come and wish you a good morning! I would heed my King’s wish, though, and will remain here in Ithilien. _

_ It is covered in snow, also, to the point where I had to unbury my front door before I could open it. Oh, how much laughter did I cause when I climbed out through the window! You should have seen me, my friend, slipping and cursing, falling right on my face into a giant mound of freshly fallen whiteness because my foot caught against the window pane! I believe Legolas is never going to let me forget about it. He had a cup of hot tea prepared for me, however, so I think I did well.  _

_ It saddens me greatly to hear about the Queen’s planned departure. Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe I should make some plans and come over to the citadel while she travels in case you want to go along? I can also provide a team of my best archers to ensure her safety on the road to the Gray Havens. I am yours to command, my King, do with me as you please - whatever you or the Queen require, I shall provide!  _

_ You have inquired about Éowyn - I do not know any of her plans, especially the ones concerning getting married. The reason is slightly different and I dare not speak of it over distance. Aye, it is a delicate matter and it is extremely private and for your ears only. I do not think it wise to write it down in case our words fall into the wrong hands. But I can tell you this: if you have heard rumors about the Ithilien Rangers, I assure you, they are true. You know which rumors I am talking about, surely.  _

_ Ah! I do hope that Flame has found a good home! This weather is dreadful, and from what you describe, it is even harsher in Minas Tirith. It saddens me to hear that so many people are still poor and are struggling through the wintertime. We should raise this issue at the next council meeting. Here, the situation is not as dire. The snow has fallen with abandon, but the cover provided by the trees is dense enough to keep most of it away, up among the branches. It looks truly magical, my friend, I wish you could see it! The barks are of deep brown, the crowns are white…  _ _ On account of sounding like a hopeless romantic, I will say that they remind me of you. Tall, proud, with the shining, silvery mithril… _ _ Aye, do not listen to me, I am a babbling fool!  _

_ Please, consider again my offer of coming to Minas Tirith. Should I be needed there, you have to let me know in advance. The roads are truly overflowing with snow and to get there would take me some time, even traveling lightly as I usually do. I also apologize if this letter arrives late at your hands - I know that one of the bridges has fallen down and that the other is barely standing. The courier may have some trouble getting through.  _

_ Lovingly, _ _   
_ _ Your Faramir _


	9. Chapter 9

_ 10th day of Gwaeron _

_ To Faramir, Son of Denethor II, Prince of Ithilien _

_ I am writing to you on behalf of the King and the kingdom itself. Life in Minas Tirith is peaceful, but the King has fallen ill. The situation seems dire. Please, come as fast as you can.  _

_ Respectfully, _ _   
_ _ Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth _


	10. Chapter 10

Faramir had not wasted any time packing his belongings - all necessities fit neatly into his traveling bag - and so, he had been ready to ride out on the next day after the letter had arrived. He was walking through Minas Tirith now, the streets winding up in a constant climbing path, the snow still covering them thickly.  It had started to melt in Ithilien, and Faramir was truly shocked to observe the whiteness still residing inside the high walls. He did not have much time to dwell upon that, though, his mind far too busy running through every possible cause as to his king’s state. There were not many diseases that could be described as  _ dire _ which befell Men of Gondor, and with every step, Faramir was more and more worried, his thoughts troubling over the state he would find his friend in. 

People were walking around, seemingly not minding the snow, smiling and bowing to him, but other than a courteous greeting, he could not bring himself to react. His feet seemed to know their way though, and in no time at all, he was approaching the gates to the citadel, pausing right before the final steps of it when something caught his eye. Curious, the prince stopped and stared, his mouth opening in surprise, eyebrows creasing in confusion. 

There, a bit to the right, hidden halfway behind one of the pillars surrounding the entrance, a small ball of orange fur was huddled, gazing up at him with big, scared eyes. They were silver in color, and Faramir could not believe it when his thoughts went back to one of Aragorn’s letters.    
“Flame?” He asked, crouching low to the ground and reaching out with one hand. The scrawny creature yipped at him and crawled closer, mistrustful of the human in front of him.  Patiently, Faramir waited and cooed to him, smiling encouragingly when the dog managed to come close enough to sniff his hand. It took Flame a moment, but eventually, he gave Faramir’s gloved fingers a curious lick, then leaned in and nuzzled his palm. The prince could not help but grin. 

“Flame… I have heard so much about you!” He said softly, mindful of his tone, not eager on scaring him away. After a while, the dog stepped closer and let himself be petted properly, even managing to wiggle his tail a bit, but it was clear that he was weak. And how could he not be? Even from far away, Faramir would be able to count all the bones on this scrawny creature!  “Come!” He decided, picking him up and scooping him into his arms. Flame gave a small bark, but did not wriggle too much and let himself be carried away. “Wait till Aragorn sees you.” With that, Faramir stepped up to the gate and signaled to the guards to open it. 

As soon as he had stepped over the threshold, Imrahil was calling him, walking down the corridor with a somber expression on his face.    
“Faramir!” He greeted, hugging the prince awkwardly, because the dog was still held securely in Faramir’s arms.    
“Uncle! I have received your letter, I came as soon as I could!”    
“Thank the Valar for that!” Imrahil nodded, eyeing Faramir, before his gaze stopped on a very quiet and very fearful-looking dog. “What is this?”    
“That’s Flame. It’s… I do believe it’s King Elessar’s dog,” Faramir muttered, instinctively reaching up and rubbing his fingers behind Flame’s ear. The dog perked up, looking around, before he settled down again, pushing his muzzle underneath Faramir’s arm.    
“I see,” Imrahil said, voice skeptical. He did not question the matter further, though, for which Faramir was grateful. They had more pressing matters to discuss. 

“How is Elessar doing?” He asked when they started to walk down the corridor, their pace purposefully slow as to enable a full explanation of the situation. Imrahil winced, then looked ahead.   
“He is unwell. At first we thought he had caught a cold, for it looked to be nothing more serious than that. But when he stopped eating properly and started to spend his nights awake and his days in his bed, we knew that something was off.”  
“And the healers?” Faramir asked, shocked. “What do they have to say on the matter?”   
“Nothing.” Imrahil shook his head, his expression melting into a picture of disappointment. “They have deemed it a cold and told him to sleep it off and drink herbal infusions. As I am sure you can deduce, that did not help much.”   
“And what do _you_ think?” The prince asked, frowning. Imrahil bit his lip for a moment, then sighed warily.   
“You may think it preposterous, for even I think it so…” he hesitated, glancing at Faramir, who urged him on with a nod. 

“I have seen… a friend of mine, an _Elf,_ dying of a broken heart. _Fading,_ as they call it. His loved one had died when he had been out battling Orcs, and the grief was just too much to let him live…” Imrahil trailed off, looking down at his feet. Faramir shook his head.   
“Why would you think it preposterous, uncle?”   
“Elessar is not an Elf!”   
“Aye. He has been raised among them, though,” the prince thought aloud, petting Flame when he started wriggling restlessly in his arms. “If there is one man who has become so Elvish in his ways that the difference no longer exists, then it is Elessar. Would it be so surprising if his body followed what his heart dictates?”   
“Maybe not…” Imrahil paused at the end of the corridor, turning to look at Faramir. “I am not sure how it is possible, but he does seem to be fading in a truly Elvish way. And if it is so, then I fear it will be very hard to bring him back. The queen has sailed, Faramir. She is gone!” 

At that, Faramir froze. He had known about her incoming departure for the Gray Havens, but to hear it had already been done? Was this the reason for Aragorn’s state? Oh, how Faramir regretted listening to him and staying at Emyn Arnen!  He should have been here instead, tending to his king, keeping watch and making sure he took care of himself once Lady Arwen had departed. 

“Imrahil… Where is the king now?” Faramir asked, nay,  _ demanded.  _ Imrahil rubbed one hand over his forehead, then looked at him sadly.    
“Where he’s been for the past month, I’d reckon. In his chambers.”    
“Good. Take him,” the prince said, handing Flame over to his - suddenly very stiff - uncle. “Bathe him, feed him, then send him over to Elessar. It will lift his spirits, trust me.” Faramir assured, seeing the skeptical look on his uncle’s face. With one last pat to Flame’s head, he turned the corner and strode towards Aragorn’s chambers. 

-&-

The inside of the royal bedchamber was dark and unpleasantly cold when Faramir stepped inside - there were no candles despite the evening falling quickly outside, as  there was no fire crackling merrily to welcome him. He had knocked, and there had been no answer, but the door was unlocked so he had let himself in. Walking through the room now, feeling uneasy seeing the amount of dust collected on the shelves and covering thick tomes residing on them, the prince made his way forward, until he stopped at the foot of the bed. It was messy, various pillows strewn around, with a vague shape of a body curled up in the middle of it, wrapped tightly in - Faramir’s eyes widened. Aragorn was sleeping under the gray, fur-lined cloak he had gifted to his liege so many months ago. He was at least partly disrobed, too - bare feet peeked out from beneath the tail-end of the cloak, their fine bones starkly visible and  almost inviting the prince to touch. Or cover them up. 

Torn, Faramir finally decided on the latter, bending forward and reaching out to tug the hem down a bit, making sure his king’s feet would be warm. He let his hand linger on them for a moment, repeating to himself that it was only to check their temperature, almost managing to fool himself with his own thinking. 

A cough sounded from somewhere up on the bed, and Faramir straightened, pulling himself away from the edge of the cloak, scolding himself mentally. He let his gaze travel over the mostly-still figure, wincing when he saw a tremor running through the curled-up frame. A mop of dark hair peeked out from beneath the cover and a pair of silvery-blue eyes fixed on him, and Faramir smiled and moved to the side of the bed, sitting on the edge of it.    
“Aragorn?” He asked, his voice low in case his lord was battling a headache together with the very obvious cold. Elessar squinted at him in confusion, then uncurled a little. He propped himself with one arm and leaned up, before he was reaching with one hand and placing it on the prince’s shoulder. Faramir frowned - there was something unfocused in his king’s gaze, his skin was pale and the hollows under his cheekbones were more prominent than ever. Before his mind could run away dissecting every detail of Aragorn he could take in, however, his king tugged him forward and pressed their lips together. 

Faramir froze. 

For all the chill in the room, Elessar’s mouth was surprisingly warm, his fingers turning gentle where they tangled in the hair at Faramir’s nape. There was a feeling of relief passing in the air between them, and even if the prince was too shocked to do anything but remain still and let himself be kissed, Aragorn more than made up for this. He let his tongue into play, running it slowly over the seam of Faramir’s lips,  and when a second set of fingers sneaked its way into his hair, Faramir could not stop a delighted little moan from escaping him, his body finally overruling his mind and joining in the fun provided. 

That was precisely when all the sensations ended abruptly, Aragorn breaking away and pulling back, his eyes as wide as Faramir had ever seen them. The prince opened his mouth in confusion, but before he could utter a word, Elessar mumbled out a small “Faramir!” and backed himself against the headboard, desperate hands grabbing at the cloak and pulling it high over his shirt-clad chest. Faramir stared. 

“I didn’t… I thought…  _ Oh gods…” _ Aragorn muttered, bringing his hands up and hiding his face behind them. Faramir sat there for a moment, taking his king in, noticing how his shoulders shook with each heaved-in breath.    
“Aragorn…”    
“I am  _ so _ inexplicably sorry, Faramir…” The words were mumbled from behind two twitching palms, and the prince found himself at a loss as to what to do. His lips were still tingling with a ghost of the kiss, his fingers itched to grasp Aragorn and bring him close - to hug him or to kiss him, he did not know. His mind was busy, too, screaming at him to do the only logical thing he could - get up and leave the room, before he did something utterly stupid. Torn between different feelings, unable to make the decision, Faramir remained where he was, perched on the edge of the bed, confused gaze stuck in his very much panicking king. 

Aragorn took a few calming breaths and finally let his hands fall. His eyes were cast low, staring at the cloak he was wrapped in, fingers traveling to the fur on instinct. They started to pick at it nervously, combing through it and tugging from time to time, ruffling the silvery tufts.    
“What… erm.” Faramir cleared his throat when his voice came out all croaky. “What has just happened?” Hearing that, Aragorn winced, looking to the side.    
“I thought I was dreaming… I am sorry, I was way out of line…” He sucked in a shaky breath, then let it out with a sigh. “We shall not speak about it again.”    
“What?” 

Really, it was not smart nor subtle, but Faramir was too shocked to do  _ subtle _ right now. He stared at his king, uncomprehending. Aragorn coughed, the ugly sound of it making Faramir’s skin crawl.    
“Please, spare me the shame of explaining it,” Elessar rasped out, his voice deceptively close to sandpaper.   
“Aragorn…”    
“No. Leave me.” And with that, he turned to his side, his back facing Faramir, and buried himself under the cloak. “Please.” He added, his voice muffled by one of the pillows. 

Faramir sat there for a moment longer, his mind busy untangling the mess the conversation had been in his own head. After a while, he shook his head and stood up. He would never get through to Elessar this way, not until the king was feeling a bit better. The room was still too cold for comfort, however, the night was falling fast and the interior would be pitch-black soon. Walking out, he made plans on finding candles and something light to eat in the kitchens. He should alert the staff about some firewood, too. 

-&-

Faramir was well aware that Elessar wanted to be left alone. 

He had no intention of granting that wish, however. It was clear that the king needed help and, if Faramir’s suspicions were true, then it had been some time since Aragorn let himself be cared for. The hollows in his cheeks had spoken volumes about just how badly he had been eating, the room had been too cold to house even a dog in, let alone the ruler of the whole realm… Not to mention the darkness encompassing not only the royal chambers, but also the king himself. 

Shaking his head in dismay, Faramir ducked into the kitchens, grinning when he was welcomed by a very merry Idris and her mother.    
“Idris! Iaureth!” He greeted, hugging them one after another, nodding when they inquired about his well-being.    
“I am alright, but I have seen that the king is not…”    
“By Eru, Sunshine!” Iaureth had always called him that, ever since he was a wee lad, and Faramir couldn’t help but smile warmly at her. It was much better than all those poncy titles people bestowed upon him usually. “He’s been worse and worse! It’s so good you are back now to help him!” She paused, eyeing him seriously. “You will help him, won’t you?”    
“Aye, I’ll try!” Faramir nodded reassuringly, then sighed when he remembered how Aragorn had dismissed him. “Although I am not sure how much I can really do.”    
“Oh, don’t fret, boy!” The old woman grinned, poking him in the ribs with her elbow. “If there is one man in the whole of Arda who could, ‘tis you! Aye! You should have seen him, Sunshine! He was so sad when the queen was sick… but then he always smiled brilliantly when he received your letter!” 

Hearing that, Faramir frowned, shaking his head.    
“And how do you know that I wrote those letters?”    
“Ah, ‘tis easy, right Idris?” Iaureth looked at her daughter imploringly, and the girl smiled sheepishly, looking down.    
“We glanced at one of them,” Idris muttered quietly, and her mother laughed.    
“We  _ stole _ one, ya mean!” She corrected, turning her gaze to Faramir once again. “I’m sorry for doing that, Sunshine, but we were too concerned for Elessar’s condition. It was so rare to see him smile like that, so we thought that we might have been able to glimpse at what made him happy and maybe bring some more of that… but then we saw that it was a letter from you, and we knew you were in Emyn Arnen, and well…” she explained, throwing her hands in the air and letting them fall down at her sides in a gesture of hopelessness. Faramir shrugged. 

“‘Tis alright,” he said, though he felt the need to clarify.  _ “Not _ that it’s alright to read your king’s correspondence… I’m just glad that someone was paying attention to what was happening with him.”    
“Aye, we didn’t  _ read _ that letter, we only saw your signature. We put it back into its place shortly after, don’t ye worry, my boy!” Iaureth assured him, patting his shoulder. “And now that you’re here, we do not need to snoop around anymore. Tell me, what do you need?” She asked, leaning in conspiratorially. Faramir smiled. 

“Do you have something light to eat? Something warm, perhaps,” he inquired, looking around curiously.    
“Aye! We have, we have!  There is some fresh stew we’ve made! And there’s pie also, filled with apples! They were dried from the finest batch we’ve had last autumn, but do not fret, Idris has soaked them in milk and honey before we put them into the pie!” Iaureth listed, excited, then shooed her daughter away to grab a bowl. 

A few minutes later, they were walking down the corridor towards Elessar’s chambers, Idris carrying a tray with a bowl of stew and a plate of pie - four slices, because  Iaureth had been unmoved and had insisted that Faramir ate at least two of them, too. Faramir held a few pieces of wood in his right hand, tied together with twine for easy carrying. It left his left hand free, which proved to be ideal, for he spotted Velen as soon as they turned the last corner.    
“Prince Faramir!” The young soldier of the Royal Guard greeted, pausing on his way to Elessar’s door. Faramir smiled at him, looking down when he noticed Flame cowering behind Velen’s legs.    
“I see Imrahil delegated you to bring Flame in,” the prince observed. Velen nodded.    
“Yes, my lord. I did not know if you wished it, but I found him a collar and a leash…”    
“Thank you, Velen. Flame will be staying with us in the citadel, so I do not think he will need the leash, but the collar is a very good idea indeed.” Faramir nodded his thanks, reaching out and taking the leash from Velen. He dismissed him with a wave and Velen saluted before walking away. 

Taking a deep breath, making sure Idris is following with the tray, Faramir grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. It was unlocked, just as he had left it, and he stepped in quietly, motioning to Idris to put the tray on the desk. The girl did as was told, then lit a few candles and curtsied, leaving the room and closing the door behind herself. With a sigh, Faramir went closer to the bed, smiling when Flame started to tug at the leash, probably feeling Aragorn’s scent in the air. With a few approving pats, Faramir undid the collar and let it fall away, watching with satisfaction as the dog walked forward and stopped right beside the bed.  He hesitated for a moment, sniffing the covers curiously, before he jumped up right next to Aragorn’s curled up body, startling him with a happy bark. 

The king yelped, sitting up and throwing his arm out to shield himself from any possible dangers, before he recognized the coppery fur.    
“Flame?” He asked nobody in particular, confusion clear on his handsome features. Faramir grinned, watching him, taking in just how delicately Aragorn’s fingers threaded through the soft fur behind the dog’s ear. Flame yipped merrily, wriggling around, before he pushed his head under Aragorn’s arm, his tail giving a tentative swish.

“I found him waiting for his master just outside the citadel, I thought it better to bring him in,” Faramir explained, making Aragorn jerk his head up and stare at him, surprised. There was happiness flickering over his face, mixed with some strange warmth that almost made Faramir forget that he still had a fire to make. But the look did not last long and soon, Elessar’s expression turned somber again, his eyes cast down once more. It was almost painful to watch just how studiously he was staring at the dog, a clear attempt at ignoring Faramir. The prince sighed at that and went to rekindle the fireplace, happy to have some dry wood that caught fire immediately. Once he was done, he went to the tray and brought it to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. 

“The girls made you some stew,” he tried, hoping to drag Aragorn out of whatever funk he had managed to push himself into. The king didn’t move, save for petting Flame when the dog demanded it with a few quiet whines. “Aragorn…”    
“Why are you still here?” Elessar’s voice was quiet, and yet it carried through the utterly silent chamber. “After what I did…” He trailed off, biting his lip and shaking his head. Faramir frowned.    
“And what did you do, my king? What did you do that would send me running away?”    
“I kissed you!” Aragorn’s voice broke at the last word, coming out hoarse.  “I let myself believe that you were naught by a dream and I fell into it!” Angrily, Elessar banged his hand against the bed, wincing when Flame jumped up with a yelp. Faramir flinched, but his mind was busy deciphering his king’s words. 

“Do you dream of me so often, then?” He asked, curious, hoping he was on the right track. Aragorn sighed, and shrugged, biting his lip again.   
“Yes,” he whispered, finally, shutting his eyes tightly as if it would make him disappear.   
“And why would that send me running?” Faramir prodded. “Have I not told you that I had no intention of marrying? Have I not told you about the rumors of the Ithilien Rangers? Have I not made myself clear on that matter yet, my king?” He went on, somehow managing to make Aragorn look up at him hesitantly. 

The fear in those silvery-blue eyes squeezed Faramir’s heart, but there was something else, also - a small spark of hope, glittering faintly, but there nevertheless. Holding onto that, hoping he was not making a mistake, the prince moved a little closer to Aragorn, leaning in and touching their mouths together. 

The king went eerily still against him, scarcely a breath leaving him, and with it a word.    
“Faramir?”    
“Aragorn.” 

Faramir let his hand do what it wanted to do all along - he raised it to Aragorn’s cheek and rubbed the delicate skin gently, almost reverently, making the king close his eyes and exhale shakily.   
“Look at me, my king,” the prince commanded, watching as those beautiful eyes focused on him again. “I thought I have been oversharing in my letters, but I see now that I was anything but. Let me state it once and for all, then. I love you.” 

The expression on Aragorn’s face in that moment was almost comical - a surprise so deep that Faramir felt his own extremities tingling seeing it. Eyes opening wide, mouth agape, Elessar seemed utterly lost for a few long moments, before the shock gave way to happiness.  He smiled - brilliantly, unapologetically, lips stretching wide. Faramir grinned too, and when he leaned in this time, the king didn’t tense up at all. Quite the opposite, in fact - he relaxed back into the pillows, his hands coming up and pushing into Faramir’s hair, combing through the unruly curls.    
“I didn’t dare to hope,” Aragorn mumbled against Faramir’s mouth, his warm breath fanning out against Faramir’s cheek. The prince hummed, kissing him again, relieved and demanding all at once. 

When they broke apart after a few long moments, heaving in air and giddy with excitement, Faramir was the first to speak.    
“You should eat something,” he said seriously, looking at Aragorn with concern. He had let his hands travel over his king’s body when their mouths had been busy together, and he could not help but worry about how thin Elessar had become. He wasn’t skin and bones, not  _ yet, _ but his collarbone was sharp and his ribs too noticeable. Aragorn frowned, hearing the tone of his voice, biting his lip almost as if he was a stableboy being scolded.    
“I must admit… Food has not been my primary concern in the last few weeks…” he mumbled out.    
“I can see that.” Faramir huffed out, exasperated. He knew that when a black mood struck, nobody was responsible for the liberties they took with their health, but it irritated him that there had been nobody around to smack Aragorn on his head and make him see reason. He sighed, calming himself down before his temper could get the better of him. Flame nudged him on the hand, and he smiled down at the dog, scratching him gently, before he stood up and took the tray. 

“Can you sit up?” He prompted, coming back and waiting until Aragorn found a comfortable position. When the tray was placed in his lap, the king’s mouth opened in surprise.    
“Apple pie?” He asked, his gaze flickering between the plate and Faramir’s face.    
“Yes,” he confirmed, smiling. “Iaureth wanted to make sure you ate as much as you could, and she knows well just how much you love it,” he explained, grabbing a piece of the pie and biting into it. He couldn’t help but groan appreciatively at the taste, the sweetness of it a welcome change after so many months of Legolas’ salads and twig-broths. Seeing that, Elessar seemed to be finally convinced to start eating, and they cleared the tray in no time. 

-&-

It was much later, after Aragorn had taken a bath and Faramir changed the bedclothes, after  _ Faramir _ took a bath and came back to sit with Aragorn, entertaining his king with a few dramatic stories from Ithilien, that they finally felt the passage of time. The king was yawning every now and then, his coughing getting more noticeable as the night turned darker, making Faramir worry.  Following some serious prodding from the prince, Aragorn finally told him where the herbs he was supposed to take were stashed. Faramir took them, only to return after a few minutes, a steaming cup in hand.  He made Aragorn drink it all, not paying attention to the wincing and grousing of a very displeased king.

“The taste is horrible!” Aragorn declared, placing the empty cup on the small table next to his bed. Faramir shook his head, smiling fondly.    
“And we both know that it will help you with the cold and make you sleep easier.”    
“I don’t want to sleep,” Elessar muttered, biting his lip and twisting his fingers in the covers. He was covered with a proper blanket now, the cloak being neatly folded and placed on the dresser. Faramir eyed him.    
“Why? You look tired,” he observed. Aragorn shook his head.    
“Nights are cold…” he whispered and, when Faramir cast a look at the still merrily burning fire, he explained further.  “I don’t like sleeping alone. It’s surprising, isn’t it? It had been like this for my whole life, no matter if I was in Rivendell or in a ditch outside Shire. My time with Arwen changed me and I don’t know how to sleep alone anymore…” 

He looked sad suddenly, and Faramir couldn’t stand it. He had promised to himself, in the privacy of his thoughts, that he would not rush anything, but when Aragorn seemed so desolate over the prospect of being alone in the night, the prince could not help himself.    
“I can stay, if you wish,” he proposed quietly, his heart fluttering at the smile appearing on Aragorn’s lips.    
“Truly?”    
“Of course.” Faramir nodded, leaning in for a kiss. In the past few hours, it had somehow become natural to do just that. Smile, lean in, steal a kiss. So simple and yet so monumental in what it meant. Faramir didn’t let himself think too much about it. 

Standing up, he took off his tunic and breeches, leaving only his undershirt and smallclothes on. Thus clad, he climbed onto the bed and under the corner of the blanket, lifted invitingly by his king. They didn’t blow out the candles, choosing instead to let them burn out on their own. In the soft glow of the dying light, Elessar’s eyes twinkled merrily, his lips so inviting that Faramir did not see any other choice, but to lean in and capture them in a searing kiss.  They fell asleep shortly after, wriggling around and curling up into each other to find comfort and peace.

-&- 

In the morning, Anor had barely risen above the horizon when Faramir had already opened his eyes. It was half-dark in the room still - courtesy of the heavy curtains shielding them from the intrusive glow. He yawned and stretched, realizing he was lying on his side and becoming aware that he was not alone in bed. Aragorn was lying a scant few inches away from him, the line of his back curved enticingly.  With a happy sigh, the prince moved forward, bold in his half-asleep state, and sneaked one arm around his king’s lithe waist. Aragorn’s body was warm even through the sleeping shirt he was wearing, and Faramir could not stop himself from sliding his hand lower and rucking the offending material up , pushing it away until he encountered soft skin. When his fingers splayed over Aragorn’s abdomen, the king inhaled sharply, tensing against him. 

“Morning,” Faramir mumbled, closing his eyes and blindly pressing his lips to the nearest bit of his king he could find, which turned out to be the back of his neck. Aragorn swallowed audibly, his hand migrating downwards, until the warm palm encompassed Faramir’s wrist. Blinking his eyes open, the prince waited for what would come, hoping that his own hand would be allowed to stay where it was.  _ He had been waiting so long for that, _ he realized, and to be denied now would hurt more than any Orc arrow ever could. But, to his great surprise and infinite happiness, Elessar did not move his hand away. The fingers, unsure in their grip as they were, migrated down and tangled with his own, squeezing reassuringly. Faramir smiled. 

“How are you feeling?” He inquired when a cough wrecked Aragorn’s body, but the king shook his head.    
“I’m going to be fine,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy with the last remnants of sleep.    
“Of course you are,” Faramir agreed, hiding his smile in Aragorn’s shoulder. “I’m going to take care of you…” With that, he inclined his head just a little, kissing a patch of skin uncovered by the too loose collar of the shirt. Aragorn hummed. “I’m going to keep you warm.” Another kiss, just a bit higher, landing in the crook of the shoulder. “And make you drink all those  _ awful _ herbs,” Faramir finished, pushing his nose behind Aragorn’s ear. The king chuckled.    
“And now you’ve ruined it, my prince,” he commented dryly, but there was a note of amusement in his voice. He turned around, wriggling and twisting, until they were face to face. Faramir smiled at him happily, lazily, at ease with their position and their closeness. But Elessar’s face became serious, his eyes boring into Faramir’s with such intense fire the prince found himself melting. 

“Faramir…” He whispered, sounding almost in awe. “What are we doing?” The surprise was clear in his voice, and it made Faramir’s insides flutter. The gravity of this moment had fallen upon him at last - a prince and a king in bed, together, with their knees touching, with their breaths mingling, with the pillows discarded and thrown off the bed in the middle of the night, because suddenly their bodies had decided that only one had been needed, and that it had had to be shared. 

“How does it feel?” Faramir asked instead, bringing one hand to his king’s face, cradling the cheek gently. Aragorn coughed, then cleared his throat, and his eyes closed as he inclined his head, nuzzling into the warm palm in an almost cat-like manner.    
“It feels good…” He mumbled, not looking at his steward, keeping his eyes shut and his hands to himself.    
“Then why do I have the feeling that you are afraid of it?” Faramir asked seriously, watching Aragorn for any telltale signs. If the king decided to run away from the matter at hand, he wanted to know it.

To Faramir’s surprise, though, Elessar’s words, when they came, did not sound like an escape attempt.    
“I’m…  _ worried _ that I may ruin it,” Aragorn admitted quietly, making Faramir frown.    
“Why would you?” He queried, not really understanding what his king meant. Aragorn gave a sigh, then opened his eyes again, just to cast his gaze down and have it stuck in the lacing of the nightshirt Faramir was wearing.    
“You know what happened with Arwen…” he reminded the prince quietly.    
“But… you are not responsible for the way Elven biology works, my king.” Faramir failed to see the connection. Aragorn winced, shaking his head.    
“No. I should have seen it coming, however. And Éowyn… I think I have broken her heart…” 

Hearing the latest revelation, Faramir could not help but chuckle. During their slow recovery in the House of Healing, he had spoken a lot with Éowyn, and while she had mentioned her passing attraction to the king, she had brushed it up as just that - nothing more but an ill-timed fancy, a bit of a hero infatuation, and nothing beyond that. 

Aragorn, hearing the amused snort, finally dragged his gaze up and studied his steward. Faramir grinned.    
“And what would you say about me?” He asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “All the people in Gondor must have suspected me of courting the White Lady of Rohan, even if that had not been true. She is a noble woman, a warrior in both the battlefield and the library, and yet I could not see us being together in the most natural way the Valar intended for a man and a woman.”    
“I do admit that confused me,” Aragorn muttered, closing his eyes again. “Why wouldn’t you pursue such a noble lady? Why wouldn’t you try to create a home with her?”    
“Oh Aragorn…” Faramir exclaimed and, not able to stop himself any longer, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on those royal lips. His king took a sharp inhale, surprised at the action, his eyes snapping open. 

“I didn’t pursue it, because I have never been interested in the fairness of women and what was beneath their skirts,” Faramir went on with his explanation. When Aragorn frowned, he continued. “Ladies never interested me as much as men did, and I have long ago discovered that I preferred the hard planes of a warrior’s body far more than I would ever prefer the soft, female curves.” Hearing that, Aragorn looked surprised, his eyes widening slightly, and Faramir grinned. “I thought I had been clear in my letter. The Ithilien Company had some… ah,  _ unusual qualities,  _ one may say.” 

“Unusual qualities?” Aragorn parroted, clearly not understanding the subtext. The prince nodded.    
“Aye. It consists mostly of men who prefer other men on their bedrolls, if you get my meaning. It has always been like that…”    
“But… doesn’t it cause troubles?” Aragorn asked,  clearly shocked to learn something new about a very important part of his kingdom’s defences.  Faramir shook his head, laughing quietly.    
“Quite the opposite.  I have never seen anyone guarding their collective backsides better than those I served with. You know, there is something about the men in arms and their connection to each other… when their bedmate is in trouble, they would move mountains just to get him safe.”    
“I… see,” Elessar said, but Faramir grinned, shaking his head.    
“No. I don’t think you do. But I can show you… the rangers proved themselves very…  _ informative _ in some matters.”

And with that, the prince leaned in and took his king’s lips in a heart-melting kiss. His hands found a life of their own shortly, fingers splaying over Aragorn’s chest, mapping out every curve and bone they encountered. Elessar sighed, melting into the caress, letting his steward explore as he wished. And explore he did - by the time he was done, Aragorn was breathless in his moaning, trashing on the bed underneath him,  their seed mingling together among the sea of rucked-up shirts and messy bedcovers.

“Faramir…” Elessar mumbled when they were done, gulping in a few rushed breaths, sounding like he had just slayed a battalion of Orcs. The prince smiled, his face still hidden in Aragorn’s neck, right where it had landed when it had all became too much to process.    
“Mhmmm?” He hummed, smiling stupidly, pressing a kiss to his king’s throat.  There was an answering exhale, a slight wriggle, and then, Aragorn was shifting, threading his fingers through Faramir’s hair, laying a trail of kisses up his shoulder and neck.    
“Is this a dream?” The king asked softly, his voice barely there, and something in Faramir broke. He leaned back, looking right into Aragorn’s eyes. 

“No. This is  _ not _ a dream, my king,” he stated seriously and dove down to kiss his liege senseless. 

-&-

_ 2nd day of Gwaeron _

_ My Love: _

_ I already miss you, even though it had been only a few hours since you’ve departed for Emyn Arnen.  _ _ I know that the matter of the spring flood is pending, but I cannot help myself. I long to hold you in my arms again. _ _ It has not been a full year yet with us being together, and I already cannot sleep alone, nor can I walk the citadel without thinking about you.  _

_ This letter I have stashed in your pack, knowing well that you would read it upon your arrival in your former home… I cannot help but wish that I was there with you. Indeed, I would kiss you on the doorstep of your Ithilien house you have so easily given up for me. I would drag you to your bed, push you on the furs and do all those deprived things we barely speak about in the light of day.  _ _ Would you let me? Aye, I reckon you would.  _

_ Forever yours, _ _   
_ _ Aragorn _

_ P.S. Open the door, your porch is annoyingly cold, my dear.  _


End file.
